


Let This Be Our Last Battlefield

by speakingofalice



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, But Leonard is there to help him, Child Abuse, Family Issues, I'm not your son, Jim has problems okay, M/M, Minor Character Death, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5962753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakingofalice/pseuds/speakingofalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk was a lot of things, but he was no ones son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let This Be Our Last Battlefield

“I’m not your son.”

Jimmy jerks his little hand away from the drunk man who grips him too tightly. His voice is shaky and thick in his throat but he swipes his tiny tongue over his teeth and says it again.

“I’m not you–”

His face stings from where a meaty hand slaps him. Tears threaten his eyes and his bottom lip quivers dangerously. It takes his mind a second too long for him to realize he’s just been hit. He’s never been hit before.

Frank growls something that Jimmy can't understand and doesn’t stay around long enough to find out. He runs, hard. Little legs pump with only the sounds of denim jeans swooshing and sniffles as his eyes are overrun by tears. Behind him the door slams but he barely hears it. Frank had been bad ever since Sammy left last week and Jimmy doesn’t understand why.

He doesn’t understand why his heart pounds when the Frank enters any room he’s in. He doesn’t understand why he’s always so mad at him, he never did nothing wrong – at least, Jimmy doesn’t think he did. Jimmy doesn’t understand the bad smelling drink in brown bottles that darken the floor space in the living room where he used to play. He doesn’t understand why Sammy left in the first place. He doesn’t understand why mommy never answers her com when he calls. He doesn’t understand why she doesn’t call him back when he leaves messages asking where she is. He doesn’t understand much, but he does know that when Frank called him  _son_  it is  _wrong_.

Jimmy doesn’t have a daddy, that’s what all the kids as school say. Sammy says that he had a daddy once but now he’s gone because Jimmy did something, but he’ll never say what. That’s when Sammy always got sad like mommy so Jimmy stopped asking.

_Poor Jimmy Kirk_ , is what his teachers always say shaking their heads when he walks by.  _Poor Jimmy Kirk._

Jimmy doesn’t understand what’s so poor about him.

* * *

“I’m not your  _son_.”

J.T spits, actually  _spits_  at Kodos’ feet. The glob of saliva hits the side of the governors’ shoe, off its mark by inches, but J.T is happy with the results none the less as the governor takes a step back hitting his desk with his fat ass. The soldiers holding him shove him to the carpet where his knees make a cracking sound when bone hits floor. Hard strikes come down across his back whitening his vision with pain but he doesn’t care. It was worth it. He wasn’t Kodos’ son. Never.

Kodos looks down at his shoe with a disgusted twist to his mouth. He smooths the front of his nice shirt licking his lips and narrowing his dull eyes. Placing his hands behind his back, the Executioner clears his throat once more.

“Tell me where they are, son, and everything will be alright.” He repeats as the soldiers take steps back from J.T’s bloody body. He’s shaking, his face is awash with blood, tears and snot. He cries because his eyes aren’t strong enough to hold back the tears but he doesn’t sob. No, never sobs. He doesn’t beg for the pain to end. He doesn’t show weakness. Nothing hurts him anymore. There was no breaking him because he already did what he’d wanted to do. He’d already saved his children.

Somewhere deep inside J.T is grateful for the tears that dampen is cheeks because it shows him that he’s still human and not the animal Kodos tries to make him believe he is. He isn’t an animal.

_I am not an animal._

He snarls and bites at Kodos when the man takes a step forwards as if to touch him. He’s been locked up and starved for so long he doesn’t really remember what it’s like to be civilized. To eat a proper meal. To use utensils. To not have blood under his nails. To not have death on his hands.

_I am not an animal._

“Where are they  _hiding_.”

Not a question, a demand. The man in front of him looks nothing special. Plain and flimsy flyaway hair, skin pale from never venturing outside the confines of his manor, and eyes an unappealing murky grey. Kodos is an ordinary man who would’ve been nothing special if he wasn’t a fucking psychopath.

J.T looks up at him feeling a surge of strength for the first time in a long time. He’s knows he’s got nothing left but this false power gives him hope. He has broken ribs and is bleeding from more places than he can count. He’s starved and frail and the bones that protrude from his body make him look almost skeletal. He is battered but not defeated. His kids got away and that’s all that matters.

That is the _only_ thing that matters.

They are safe.

“Oh, look at this.” Kodos cracks an ugly grin with his white teeth as soon as J.T stands to his full height. “A little lamb standing up to a lion. So noble yet… so foolish.”

This time when J.T spits it hits its mark sliding down the fowl man’s cheek. “Go to hell.”

And then, for the next two days it takes for Starfleet to show up, that is exactly where J.T feels he is.

He doesn’t regret a single thing.

* * *

“I’m not your son.”

Jim barks at Winona when she puts her arms around him and hugs him close touching her wet cheek against his forehead in front of all the brass and cameras. He pushes her away as hard as he can stumbling himself when the momentum is too much for his frail, battered little body. She looks around at her supervisors, at the other Admirals who had shown up to see the survivors reunited with their families. There’s almost a silent _humpf_ that leaves her mouth as she tries to cover up her embarrassment. She swooshes her long hair behind her ears and forced a smile to her face.

"Jimmy,” she starts coming in close so as to not be overheard. Jim takes a step back widening the distance. It’s hard, he can feel his knees start to tremble. He doesn’t want her to touch him. He doesn’t want anyone to touch him ever again. If they do then he might break, he’ll shatter into too many pieces to pick up again, he’ll never fit back together. “Jimmy.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not Jimmy. I’m not your son.” His jaw trembles with how hard he grinds his jaw together but he ignores it bunching his fists and relishing in the small pinprick of pain that burns up his arms from where his fingernails once were before they had been pried off by those guards on Tarsus.

_Why didn’t you come to get me?_ He wants to ask her. _Why didn’t you realize something was wrong when I stopped messaging you? Why did you leave me there? Why don’t you care?_

Winona stands up from her slight crouch swallowing and looking sad before turning around to leave. Jim follows silently after her. 

She stays only a month before it all becomes too much and she’s off again towards the stars and away from the son that screams in his sleep and hordes food under the floor boards in his room.

She calls on occasion in the beginning and Jim speaks to her though he doesn’t want to. He lies and says he’s doing better and she lies and says she misses him. 

At first they talk once a week but then it starts to dwindle to once a month and soon it becomes a call every few months. Before Jim knows it he hasn’t spoken to his mother in a year and he doesn’t feel anything about it. Just numb acceptance. 

* * *

He whispers it again in a stutter when he’s seventeen and too drunk to speak let alone walk straight. He’s not sure how he even made it through the door since he hasn’t been able to feel his legs for over an hour… or three? He’s not sure exactly what time it is now.

“I’m n-not your s-son…”

The casket doesn’t say anything back to him so he slumps in his chair biting at alcohol numb lips.

The room is large, clad in flags of different origins and planets. Medals hang above the simple clean cut wood of the casket. Technically the room is closed but Jim Kirk has never found a lock he couldn’t pick and the sorry excuse for one on the main door never had a chance of stopping him.

In the official report it states that Winona L. Kirk, Commander of the USS  _Gettysburg_  was killed in action by a Klingon Bird of Prey when a blast made direct contact with the hull pulling the commander and seven others out into the void of space. Remains were never found.

The casket that sat in front of Jim was empty as was the pit in his stomach. He hadn’t spoken to his mother in years. He stares at the casket that will be buried tomorrow he doesn’t feel anything for her. He does not feel guilt, she did not contact him once during her three year mission. He does not feel sadness because how could he mourn the death of a woman who was more of an imaginary figure than a mother? He just feels drunk and angry.

He’s not angry at Winona, that would entitle a bit of caring and he has no care or energy for her. He couldn’t even care less.

He’s angry at the world, at this stupid hand he’s been dealt. He’s angry at that lightning storm in space that killed his father. He’s angry that Winona cared more about the stars than she ever did her own family, her own sons. He’s angry at Frank and Kodos and Tarsus and angry about the stupid people who don’t understand that he doesn’t need any fucking help! He’s angry that he had to be in this room today to greet the admiralty that he hated. He’s angry that they get quiet when he enters any room. He’s angry about the looks they give him and angry about the sorrowful whispers behind his back and angry that Sam didn’t even come back from Deneva and just fucking angry!

Jim wishes the bottle in his hand was full so he could chug it back. His head is spinning so much he fears it’ll detach from his body and float away leaving him headless. Nothing’s making sense anymore and Jim questions if it ever did.

“I-I hate y-y-you.”

Jim Kirk throws the empty bottle at the empty casket and stumbles away slamming into the wall hard enough to bruise before getting the door open and tripping away. He wouldn’t be coming to the funeral tomorrow.

* * *

“I’m not your son!” Jim yelled sarcastically behind his shoulder rolling his eyes while the older man with grey speckled hair walks out of the bar. He’s drunk, sweaty, and blood is drying from his nose where he’d just taken out the two napkins he’d shoved up there to stop the flow. He can hear the sounds of Captain Pike’s boots stop on the sticky bar floor.

“No,” he says lightly, enough to make Jim cock his head around with an eyebrow raised. Pike is looking at him strangely just like he had since the moment he’d whistled stopping those cadets from pounding his nose through his brain. He cocks his head to the side, a sly smile on his face and Jim knows he’s met his match in this Captain. He’d already called him on all his bullshit and shut down his snarky comebacks and he’d only known Jim for half an hour.

“Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives... I dare you to do better.”

Then he leaves and Jim turns back to his empty drinks and dirty table. It takes him all night but he finally says  _fuck it_  and goes to the shuttle.

“Four years? I’ll do it in three.”

And Jim does. 

He does better because he was through being the punching bag, the man whore, the fuckboy to men who thought just because they  _could_  meant that they  _should_. He was done being in the Kelvin-sized shadow of his father. Sure, he still screwed around and made bad choices because he was a Kirk and Kirk’s were fuck-ups by nature but he wasn’t so alone anymore.

Jim wasn’t used to this, this sticking around thing. He was used to people getting sick of him and leaving. Abandonment issues didn’t even begin to cover it. He wasn’t used to people getting ahold of him and not letting go no matter how hard he tried to convince them he wasn’t worth it.

He wasn’t used to people like Christopher Pike or Leonard McCoy.

Pike made him feel like a better man and Leonard –  _Bones_  – he made him realize that the world could fuck him over but he could still pull up his bootstraps and laugh at it. Bones showed him love in ways Jim hadn’t even dreamed would be possible because who would love him? Who could love a broken man?

The answer was simple – another broken man.

Then somehow in the hours of classes and months of living together and terror of aviophobia and quiet days of anniversaries and birthdays Jim found a home in Starfleet. He found a home in Bones.

* * *

 

“It’s going to be okay, son.” Pike looked at Jim the way the way that fathers really did look at sons. The way that Jim had wished to be looked at when he was a child after he’d just done something that needed affirmation. The way that no one had ever looked at him.

Jim swallowed feeling his throat thicken, eyes start to water. The hollow pit in his stomach filled with something that Jim didn’t know the name of. He feels the sides of his lips quiver but he fights the sob that threatens to break free. To stop it he forces his lips into a small smile letting a wall break inside of him.

_Son_. Pike had called him his  _son_  and for the first time Jim really does feel like it’s true

* * *

 

He’d missed the funeral. He’d missed the memorial. He’d missed the burial. He’d missed the ceremony, the wreath laying, the sad words, the medal service, the…  _everything_. He’d missed everything. He hadn’t been there to watch as they lowered Pikes body down into the ground. He hadn’t been there when they shot off the old fashioned guns or when they threw dirt on his grave. He wasn’t there and for that Jim could feel weight bearing down on his chest like he hadn’t felt in years.

Jim swayed on his feet, exhaustion pulling at his limbs from walking all the way here from his apartment. It would’ve been an easy walk, he’d walked across the Academy’s campus a thousand times, but he’d been in bed for two weeks then recovery for another three. His body didn’t feel like his anymore. He had blood coursing through his veins that belonged to the person who’s murdered the only man who he could call father. His skin felt too tight across his bones. He hurt when he walked, he hurt when he sat down, he hurt when he tried to relax, he hurt all the time. And when he closed his eyes at night he hurt the most. He hadn’t been able to sleep since he found out that the tribble had died.

Jim sank to the ground in front of the large marble shined tombstone that jutted into the sky serving as the Daystrum memorial. There were twenty eight names carved into the rock and for every one Jim could feel his heart clench further. He knew that Pike’s name was no bigger than the rest but it felt like it glared at him, stared down at him, look right down through his skin.

The day was horrendously bright with birds taking up songs and the sun shining. It was a beautiful day on a day that should have been awful. Jim didn’t think it was right – the sun shining. It should be dull and rainy. Didn’t the universe know that people had died? Didn’t it understand that now was the time for mourning and not for bright and cheery and blue sky’s and all the other bullshit clichés that came with having a day like today.

Bringing his legs to his chest and feeling a slight burn in his stomach, Jim laid his chin on his knees and stared. He stared at the memorial and all the other memorials they’d put up while he was in the hospital. They all jutted into the sky in remembrance reaching for the stars.

“It’s alright…” Jim licked his lips clearing his throat and looking right at Christopher Pike’s name. He ignored the tears that glistened off his face. “I-I can be your son. I’ll be your son.”

“Jim?”

Jim didn’t even have enough energy to feel surprise. He knew Bones would be coming after him sooner or later. The man sighed sitting down next to him with a grunt. “I thought I’d find you here. You know you can’t go off by yourself. You need to tell me or Spock–”

“I couldn’t save him… I couldn’t save him and I-I-” Jim shook his head letting the tears fall freely for the first time in too long.

Bones scooted closer until their shoulders were touching. “Jim you can’t do this to yourself.”

“… He called me son. And I wanted it to be true. I wanted…” His voice cracks and he has to clear his throat again. “Bones… is this all my fault?”

“No,” Bones says with so much force that Jim turns his head to look at him. Jim feels open and vulnerable. His body shakes from fatigue and exhaustion. “None of this is your fault, Jim. Do you hear me? None of this is your fault.”

“I-I…” But his mouth is too thick to form words. Bones leans forward bringing his arms around his lover encasing his body in his tight embrace. Jim sinks into him morphing his body to Bones and shuddering with silent sobs. Bones buries his face into the thin blond hair closing his eyes and letting Jim cry.

They sit like that for a long time, but neither of them mind. Jim’s sobs eventually teeter out until he’s just letting Bones hold him feeling all the warmth and all the love he was denied as a child. He doesn’t think he can stand up but he feels content just letting himself feel vulnerable in his lovers hold.

“Bones?” he whispers as the sun turns from bright yellow to a waxing orange. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jim.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“Leave you?” Bones huffs out a laugh maneuvering his fingers until they’re under Jim’s chin to turn him to look directly into his eyes. “Never. You got me here, now and forever.”

“Forever is a long time, Bonesy.”

“Forever is just about right for me, darlin’.”


End file.
